He Would Live
by Johnnie Blue
Summary: She didn't understand. That this was his duty. His duty to another life, but a duty nonetheless. One that he couldn't turn his back on, if he wanted to live. But would it really be living? Dedicating his life to a cause he no longer believed in – a cause so archaic and so far from reason. Was that living? A life without her. Could he bare that too? Dramione one-shot.


Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or anything recognized. All things belonging to this magical world belong to one J.K. Rowling, and oh, how I envy her.

Song rec: "In My Veins" – Andrew Belle

Dedicated to my darling lover,** attica**, who pulled me aboard this ship in the first place. After many years of talking about it, I've finally published _something_. It's not the best, but it's my first, and it's thanks to you.

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"If you do this… you can't come back to me."

She didn't look directly at him as she spoke, but somewhere just below his chin. She couldn't bring her eyes to his, it seemed. He could hear the sadness in her whispered ultimatum, each word burdened by potential heartache.

No, not potential… inevitable. Inevitable heartbreak. That's all this was. It's all it ever could have been.

She didn't understand. That this was his duty. His duty to another life, but a duty nonetheless. One that he couldn't turn his back on, if he wanted to live.

But would it really be living? Dedicating his life to a cause he no longer believed in – a cause so archaic and so far from reason, a cause that wished her and her people dead. Was that living?

A life without her. Could he bare that, too?

His mind had barely touched the thought and already it propelled him to close the gap between them and gather her in his arms. He could do nothing but hold her, feel her warmth and her softness against him. He wouldn't fight with her. He wouldn't yell and scream and storm off like the many times they've done before. If this was, indeed, their last night as Draco and Hermione, he would make it last. Forever, if he could, but forever could only mean a few more hours to them now.

He breathed her in, a scent so familiar to him now, he could pick it out in a crowded room. She smelled sweet like summer apples and cherry blossoms, and she smelled of books. A book he never wanted to stop reading, with closed eyes and deep breaths.

He brought his lips to hers and kissed her like kissing her was all he knew. He kissed her like the taste of her could extinguish his every worry and every fear. He kissed her like her lips were fire and all he wanted was to melt. He kissed her like he needed to be consumed. With passion, with hunger, with desperation.

He kissed her like it was the last time.

His hands played melodies on her body and the tune intensified with their need to be closer, always closer. She never seemed to be quite close enough, but tonight, he would dissolve into her until he could not distinguish her heart's beating from his own. His lips traced the paths his hands had traveled, ravishing her body like it was his final meal. He wanted to memorize her every curve, by touch, by smell, by taste. He needed to remember because he'll be without her soon. He would go where she couldn't follow.

She gave as good as she got, knowing this would be the last time. The last time she would be with him. The last time her skin would burn against his every graze. The last time his name would pass her lips in feverish moans and passionate whispers. The last time she would feel his body hard against her, filling her with desire, with heat, with pleasure. The last time she would lose herself in him, so immersed in him, she didn't want to come up for air.

He buried himself in her, deeper and deeper until her body sang for him. He shut his eyes and colors burst behind his lids, hot and vivid, and he opened them to see the ecstasy wash over her from head to toe. Every part of her tightened around him and he gasped as she took the breath right out of him, pulling him into her like she could make them one. Like if she hugged him strongly enough, he wouldn't be able to go.

And he didn't want to go. God, he didn't want to go.

If only he could die now. This, he was sure, was the closest he would ever get to heaven. He didn't care if it was the cowardly way out, he _was_ a coward – let him be taken. Let him avoid choosing the dark over her light. Perhaps he could live that life, if it hadn't meant disappointing her. This beautiful, angelic being flush against him, gently tracing her fingers over his heart. He would rather die than disappoint her.

A few hours later, Hermione woke up alone. She moved her arm across the bed as if he would still be there, hiding under an invisibility cloak. Hot tears raced down her face as she cried into the sheets.

They were still warm.

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* * *

Pain. All over, he could feel nothing but excruciating, mind-numbing, gut-wrenching pain.

Even all his father's years of training could not have prepared him for initiation. At least with his father, it was only the two of them in the dark dungeons of the Manor. Here, there were more. More Death Eaters. More Death Eaters beating more sons. Smoke and lights and Dark magic filled the air so even when he could open his swelling lids, he saw nothing. He could only listen. At the manor, his were the only cries echoed against the cold stone walls, and even his father had beaten that out of him until only the slightest whimper would escape his lips when the pain truly became unbearable. Here…

Here, Draco's ears were filled with the sounds of others – his friends, his classmates, the boys he grew up with in Slytherin Tower. He couldn't even have imagined their tortured howls as their own fathers threw curse after curse at them.

He wished to whatever gods there were that, if he could not be dead right there, then make him deaf. He couldn't hear any more of their screaming and their shrieking cries. He didn't want hear anyone else beg and plead for their own father to stop, to please, please, please stop…

But it went on like that for hours. Days. Long, famished nights. They were relentless. Their energy never ceased as if their master's malevolence flowed directly through their wands.

Something wet trickled down his lips. He licked them and tasted blood. And something more underneath – it was barely there but he latched onto the flavor like it was the only thing to save him from his mind going completely dark.

He could still taste her.

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* * *

"I told you I didn't want to see you as one of them. You chose already, _Malfoy_. You can't take it back."

She didn't yell, but the way she called him Malfoy stung more than if she'd spat every word in his face. Her eyes had the thinnest veil of water over them, and he thought maybe if she spoke any louder, her voice might break.

"You're right," he said, swallowing the tension building in his throat. "I did choose, and I can't take it back. But see, I need you, Hermione. I need you more than I thought I did."

"You should have thought about that before you got that cursed mark, Malfoy." Her voice still stern, detached. Focused on not letting an ounce of emotion caress her words.

"I did," he told her. "Every day with you, I thought about it. You have no idea the war I battled in my own mind over this, Hermione. You… You were a different kind of torture."

She turned away from him then in disbelief, trying to ignore the heavy anchor sinking into the pit of her stomach. How dare he? After all this time, after all she'd given up for him, he blamed her.

"But…"

She turned around and he was right behind her. But, what? She looked into his eyes then, steely and grey, searching them, begging them for more. Looking for the tiny fire he'd just ignited with that one word. More words, she needed more answers to the questions her eyes beseeched him.

"But I thought you were the reason for all the struggle inside me. I thought you were the reason this was so hard. And even though I couldn't see it until tonight, I realize now that it's actually not hard at all. I want you. I need you, Hermione. So I'm here. I'm here with you."

Silence reigned as his words ran through her mind. Her eyes twitched ever so slightly, and he could almost hear her mind turning. He knew she had one question burning to be asked. She was a smart girl, but would she believe it?

Hermione hesitantly placed a hand on his left forearm. He neither winced nor cringed as her small palm closed around the fabric of his sleeve. He laid his hand atop hers, and she looked him in the eye then. Oh, those pools of honey he learned to know so well, he saw them in his dreams. So many nights, he found contentment just staring into them. No words spoken, just breaths to know she was there. Just beats of the heart to know he was alive and not sleeping.

Together they pulled up his sleeve…

Nothing.

There was nothing. His skin was as pale and clean as the day he was born, without blemish, without scars, without any mark at all. They were fighting over nothing.

She turned her head toward him to find a smile matching her own. Swiftly, she brought her lips to his and kissed him fiercely. She thought she'd never be able to again. She thought he was lost to her. She thought she would never again feel his breaths against her skin, the heat of him covering every inch of her.

It doesn't happen often, but Hermione could not be happier that she was wrong.

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* * *

Hesitation. Draco couldn't do it.

His father pushed his nose into the book, yelling at him to sign the damn thing. Sign his name, contracting his interminable duty and commitment to the Dark Lord. It was a Book of Death, and he was expected to kill himself with ink and quill. He was all cleaned up now, presentable for the Dark Lord. Had he not just been beaten into the ground, until he was all shit and spit, just so he could sign this book and be branded?

The book. It was right under his nose, and he could smell its pages. It was an old book but it seemed barely opened, retaining a bit of newness. A bit of sweetness.

Hermione.

Her scent, the memory of it invaded his mind then as if she were right beside him. Were she there, she would be begging him not to do this. She'd drag him by the arm with all the strength she had to keep him from being one of them. And she'd fight off anyone who'd try to stop her.

But she wasn't here. However much he wished for her to be here, beside him, to help him… she wasn't here. So he'd have to do it himself.

He got to his feet, looked into the perplexed faces of the Dark Lord and his father, and he turned around and walked away. He did not look back.

He barely heard his father's pleadings not to curse the boy, that he'll talk sense into him, that he will be branded with the Dark Mark if it was the last thing he'd do!

And he could have sworn the Dark Lord said to "leave him be." Perhaps he thought he would return eventually. Perhaps he didn't want Draco to join his ranks anymore if he were even to doubt for a second his loyalties.

Draco dwelt on these thoughts fleetingly before bringing his mind back to the one thing that saved him from this nightmare.

Hermione.

He would go back to her. He would go to her and never let her go. And he would live. With her, oh, how he'd live.

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Thank you for reading! Please review to let me know what you think of my first fic.


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